


Breathe

by valiantprincex



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, WARNINGS FOR: child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3169121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantprincex/pseuds/valiantprincex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah and her fear of drowning</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> So there's this head canon running around about Sarah being afraid of drowning, and here's my interpretation

Hands.

Strong hands.

Strong hands pushing her down, holding her there; the water fills her lungs as she kicks out, her feet finding flesh and her nails scraping on the side of the tub. Sarah thinks she can hear a grunt from above her and thrashes wildly – the hands push down, harder, faster, her forehead cracking against the bottom of the tub.

Stars fill her vision and her limbs fall limp, useless, her lungs screaming for air only inches away. It seems like forever – an eternity, an eternity of _dying_ – before a hand fists in her hair and she’s pulled upward, like a broken doll.

She hits the floor with a thud and Sarah can feel, distantly, the cool tile under her hands, the slippery wetness dripping down her forehead. Her stomach rolls and before she can stop it Sarah is retching, her breakfast splattering into the floor along with water, water, her hands slipping on the tile. She can hear a sharp intake of disgust, muttered expletives. And shouting.

Her arms strain in attempt to raise her before she collapses, pressing her head into the hard floor. A hand seizes her upper arm and Sarah knows there will be a bruise – _she fell again she tripped on a rock she didn’t watch the road she beat up stupid Tommy but he punched her first_ – she stumbles to her feet and hates the way her legs shake, the way she can’t stand and her head feels like she’s still drowning.

Sarah sees the swirling redness in the bathtub, the dripps across the floor and she has enough time to flinch before a fist hits her jaw – _shefellagain shetrippedonarock shedidn’twatchtheroad  shebeatupstupidTommybuthepunchedherfirst –_ and she falls, again _._ A towel flops against her side and she clutches it, presses the fabric gingerly against her throbbing forehead.

The door slams. 

Sarah’s head snaps up and she immediately regrets it, pain surging like a tidal wave. She watches the door and waits, hears the lock _click_ and the footsteps tat-tap away. Sarah presses one ear to the door and waits until she can hear the sound of the television’s static, then the smooth voice of a reporter crackling out of the half-busted speakers. She closes her eyes and presses the towel tighter, the blood isn’t stopping and isn’t stopping and now she’s crying – _don’t cry don’t you dare_ – stuffing the other end of the towel into her mouth to muffle the sound.

In what seems like forever the bleeding slows, her sobs settling into low coughs that rattle her rib cage like wind to an old house. She moves slowly, carefully removing the towel from her forehead and thrusting it in the sink, the sharp spray of water sting against her arms. She waits for the blood to run out of the cloth before removing it, still dripping, and settling herself on the floor. The blood – her, _her_ blood – is partially dry, coming off the floor in streaks and flecks. 

Finally, Sarah throws the towel into the bathtub and pulls the plug, watching the red water drain; broad red strokes linger on the sides and Sarah scrubs them off before turning the tap, wringing the towel in between her hands and watching the blood leak out slowly. 

Sarah lays on the ground and curls into herself, shivers shaking through her like earthquakes; sleep comes to her like an old friend and she slips into unconsciousness, a dreamless sleep. 

She wakes to shouting, the bathroom door rattling. Sarah pushes herself into the farthest corner and wraps her arms around herself, waiting. 

The door cracks and Sarah’s eyes widen, people pushing through like a flood. Her arms fold over her shoulders and Sarah tightens, prepares for a hit that never comes. 

Silence. 

Sarah peeks out from under her arms and sees someone – a woman – kneeling in front of her, one hand outstretched.

“Hey,” she says, softly, and Sarah knows her, remembers this face. She slowly lowers her arms, swallows. 

“H--” Sarah tries, noticing how cracked her voice is, fragmented. She coughs and feels her chest rattle, tries again. “Hey.” 

~

Sarah sits on an old leather couch, a garbage bag settled at her feet holding everything she has in the world. Her forehead still aches and Sarah is tempted to reach up and scratch it. her hands stopping as they wrapped gauze. She looks up as the social worker stands up from her desk, beaming. 

“They’re here, Sarah.” 

Sarah doesn’t reply, follows the woman out of the office and clutches the bag tightly, a lifeline. 

Outside the couple smile at her and she sits again, sits and waits while they speak, cast her looks of pity. She hates them already. 

“She’s been through a lot,” the social worker pulls out paperwork and shows it to the couple, prompting them to sign. “As you’ve no doubt been made aware she’s been in foster care since infancy, but her last one–” the woman shakes her head. “I trust you both can handle it?”

“Yes,” they reply seamlessly, and Sarah is already counting down the minutes. 

~

Sarah slouches on cold bench as she gazes inside the office: frantic hands, crying. She can hear snatches of the conversation and rolls her eyes, hands clutching the top of a beat up garbage bag. 

_She refuses to do anything we ask_  

_She doesn't drink water, I'm worried, her health you see_  

_She doesn’t bathe, either. We try to get her to and she just starts screaming_  

_She hit me, twice_  

_She–_  

_She–_  

_She–_  

The couple emerges, leaving hurriedly, as if them leaving quickly would somehow negate their leaving at all. They don’t look at her, and Sarah pretends not to see them go.

The social worker emerges, one hand beckoning her inside and Sarah follows, again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_20 years later_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Beth runs to the bathroom, Sarah’s screams reverberating through their apartment. “Hey!” She bangs in the door, her fist slamming again and again into the wood. “Sarah!” 

No response. The screams continue as Beth shakes the doorknob,her police training rising in the back of her mind; her leg kicks out, sharp, the doorknob giving way under her foot. Beth yells Sarah’s name as she barges in, stops as she sees Sarah curled, naked, at the bottom of the bathtub, the shower spray still raining down on her. 

Sarah’s arms are thrown over her head like a shield and she’s shaking. Beth turns off the water and grabs a towel, crouching near the edge of the tub. “Sarah?”

Sarah shifts slowly, buries her face in her knees. 

“Do you want a towel?” Beth asks softly, her body frozen. 

Sarah shakes her head violently, wraps her arms around herself and rocks, slowly, her screams replaced by a low whimper. 

Beth casts it aside and rests her hand on the side of the bathtub. “Do you need me to get anything?” 

Sarah shakes her head again, her body trembling, earthquakes rippling through her skin. 

“Can I come closer?” 

Sarah nods slowly, doesn't look at Beth, her eyes still screwed shut. Beth stands and climbs into the bathtub and sits across from Sarah, her hands resting on her knees. She sits still as stone and watches Sarah shake, watches her rock back-forth-back like a child. 

“Can I touch you?” Beth offers her right hand, palm up. 

Sarah nods again, a quick motion like the snick of a guillotine. 

Beth stretches out her hand and rests it on Sarah’s hunched shoulder, feels Sarah tense. “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah,” Sarah says, coughs. “Can you–” she stops. “Can you stay like that?” 

“Of course, Sarah.” Beth feels the water begin to soak into her clothes but she ignores it, keeps one hand resting on Sarah’s shoulder and the other curled in her lap. She doesn’t count the minutes that pass, just sits and feels Sarah’s tremors subside slowly, her breathing steadying. 

Finally, Sarah licks her lips and shifts slightly, her arms falling to her sides. “Hey, Beth?”

“Yeah?” 

“Can you help me stand? I jus’–” 

“Yeah, of course, Sarah, here.” Beth reaches out her other arm and Sarah grabs both of Beth’s hands, lets herself be pulled into a standing position. Beth shrugs off her coat and drapes it over Sarah’s shoulders, the bottom of it still dripping. Sarah leans on her heavily as they exit the bathroom, lets Beth ease her gently onto the bed. 

She keeps one hand firmly on Beth’s wrist, pulling her down with her. “I’m sorry, about all this shit I–” 

“Don’t worry, Sarah.” Beth stares at her, reaching up to trace Sarah’s jawline, “You’re safe. You’re here. No one is going to hurt you here. I won’t let anyone hurt you here.” 

Sarah breathes quietly, nestling her head into the hollow of Beth's neck. "Sorry about your clothes." 

"That's what dry cleaners are for, dipshit." Beth laughs, the tension breaking. "It's okay, don’t worry about it" Sarah doesn't respond and Beth shifts, feels the tremors return. She holds Sarah tighter and Sarah presses into her, her ribcage fluttering against Beth’s side. 

~ 

“Sarah!” 

Sarah’s eyes snap open and she rolls over, notices the way her chest is heaving. She sits up slowly and runs a hand through her sweat soaked hair. 

“Hey,” Beth’s voice is worried, her brow creased into a frown. 

“Sorry,” Sarah says, shifting her body close to Beth’s. “Jus’,” she pauses. “Nightmares. That’s all.” 

Beth pulls her arms around Sarah and presses a slow kiss into her forehead. “You were screaming.” 

Sarah doesn’t respond, leans into Beth like she’s the only thing left in the world. 

“Sarah I–” Beth stops. “Can I do anything?” 

“No,” Sarah replies with closed eyes, feeling her heart beat-beat out of time, still racing. “I wish you could but I–” Sarah's voice catches and she pauses, breathes. “I’m sorry.” 

Beth pulls Sarah closer and feels the shake of her rib cage, runs her hands delicately across the bones there. “It’s okay.” Beth reaches up to traces the barest wisp of a scar on Sarah’s forehead. “Do you need anything?” 

Sarah holds her breath and remembers the cold rush of water in her lungs, her forehead cracking against a smooth mockery of porcelain, and blood. And blood and bruises, and. And blood and bruises and shouting, water filling her lungs, the taste of her own blood swirling there. She considers, for a second, maybe, telling Beth _that –_ her mouth opens but the sound catches, turns to a low whine. “Jus’, jus’ stay here, yeah? Don’t leave.” 

Beth murmurs assent as her hands trace Sarah's shoulders, gentle, and she feels Sarah relax, feels her heartbeat slow to a steady pulse under her skin. 

“I won’t leave you.” 

And for the first time, Sarah believes it.

**Author's Note:**

> I was at a loss for a title, so, yeah. oops B)
> 
> If you liked it, please kudos + comment!


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